Whispering apologies with every stripped spine tossed back into her, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted, knowing why she rolled with such a bitter rage. Water that was always clear and blue so far from shore, muddy and brown with blood and vomit and rot in the shallows where Warren ships docked in comparison. Where men returned to land either on their feet or carried on their backs. Water that lapped at his feet when he wasn’t behind Maggie’s stall gutting fish, shifting beneath where he hung scraping barnacles from wooden hulls, or polishing the visages of mermaids carved into wooden bows.
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immaculate vibes
